A Flowerbox in the Window
by carpfish
Summary: In which Shoichi really hates those flowers with a passion, and Makoto just has to have a love-hate relationship with everything. Imayoshi x Hanamiya, a collection of drabbles and oneshots. Mainly college and beyond AU.
1. wake up in the morning feeling jelly

**Fanfiction, Kuroko no Basuke.**

**Drabble, Imayoshi x Hanamiya.**

**Word count: **861

**Warning(s):** Shipping of Bastards, possible OOC, sexual themes

Shoichi wakes up blinking the morning sunlight from his bleary eyes. He reaches across the bed to fetch his glasses, knowing that the space next to him is already vacated. As expected, the other side of the blanket has long been devoid of human warmth. Adjusting his glasses while giving a catlike stretch, he rolls onto his side to catch sight of a fully-dressed Makoto on the other side of the bedroom. Shoichi chooses just to watch the younger boy go through his daily routine of watering and maintaining a meticulously-kept flower box hanging out the window. Blooms of all sorts spill out of the cubicle, leaves, petals and vines transcending their intended boundaries and creeping onto the walls of their owner's apartment. Shoichi hates those flowers with a burning passion.

"Morning, Hana-chan," Shoichi trills with a sing-song tone and a disingenuous smile. Propping up his cheek with a hand, he watches Makoto's reaction- or rather lack thereof- as the younger male sets his spray bottle on his desk without so much as a glance towards the naked man in his bed. It is only after he has finished tending to his precious flora that he pays any mind to his guest.

"I have class until noon. I want you gone by then," are his uncaring instructions before Makoto hoists his bag onto his shoulder and exits the room. Shoichi waits for the sound of the front door opening and shutting before he breathes out a soft sigh. Clambering out from under the sheets, he inspects the ache of his muscles and scratch marks on his back from last night's proceedings before starting to look for his clothes.

The first time, the both of them had been heavily inebriated, and Makoto's apartment had been the closest to the bar. Shoichi remembers little of that time other than pushing his junior up against the wall of the outside corridor, rutting against each other like animals, nipping the younger boy's lower lip until he drew blood, and the way that Makoto's hands had tightened in his hair at the pain. The ensuing morning had begun with a passive-aggressive note of complaint pinned onto the apartment door, and he'd had thought that was the end of it. Of course, when Makoto had crawled into his lap the next week while the two of them had been studying together, it was clear that Shoichi had been mistaken.

Makoto's malicious and willful behavior in bed manifests itself as long red claw-marks down Shoichi's back, or in countless welts all over his shoulders from where the younger male's nails have dug in too deep. On more than one occasion has Shoichi had to conceal rings of dark bruises surrounding his neck or painful bite marks, and it is at times such as these that he wonders if this arrangement is more trouble than it's worth. But Shoichi, human as he is, cannot deny the appeal of hearing Makoto yowl and hiss from pain and pleasure, seeing the younger boy's back arch sharply off the mattress at the moment that he slides the tip into slick, tight warmth. These are the things that keep him susceptible to Makoto's advances time after wretched time.

Sometimes, after fucking, Makoto will curl up like a cat next to Shoichi in post-coital embrace, and fall asleep in the older boy's arms. Shoichi always does his best to not let these instances bother him.

These brief displays of genuine affection always dissolve with the morning sun, up to the point that Shoichi half-suspects that they are merely tired delusions that his mind has conjured to torment him with. Makoto is never there when Shoichi wakes up, and it is often that the older male is left only with nebulous scrawled notes instructing him to get out of the apartment as soon as possible. The few times that he is able to see his host in the morning, Makoto has been cold and unsentimental, any and all traces of passion from the previous night having completely disappeared.

In the end, Shoichi is always left by himself in a bedroom that would barely look inhabited if not for the few books propped on the shelf and the august presence of the window box. The wildly branching leaves and flowers seem to take up all the air in the room, making the space feel much smaller than it really is. Looking at the bright orange lilies, the proudly standing hydrangeas, the smiling sunflowers and subdued geraniums, Shoichi can almost imagine them smirking at him in a way not unlike their caretaker.

Shoichi has watched Makoto quietly maintaining the well-being of these weeds many times, whether it be replacing the soil, adding drops of fertilizer, or sometimes even bringing the flower box inside during particularly violent storms. It strikes him as sadly fascinating that Makoto may perhaps show more concern for these flowers than he does for any human being.

Shoichi is dressed in five minutes and gone by six, exiting the bedroom while making a noticeable effort not to look at the flower box. Shoichi really does hate those flowers with a burning passion.

_(a/n) This takes place in a future college!AU that may or may not be expanded further upon in other drabbles, hence Hanamiya having his own apartment. Forgive me for the gratuitous application of several of my SAT vocabulary words. _


	2. ikebana and bonzai

**Fanfiction, Kuroko no Basuke. **

**Drabble, Hanamiya Makoto.**

**Word Count:** 425

**Warning(s):** Family (OC) death, sadism

Makoto's earliest memories were of weekends spent in his grandparents' flower shop. Despite his father's decision to become a salaryman instead of inheriting the mantle of a florist, and his parents' subsequent protest, they'd managed to maintain a close relationship. Understandably, Makoto's grandparents had been delighted to discover that their daughter-in-law possessed the interest in their family trade that her husband had lacked. As a result, Makoto's mother had quickly developed an intimate attachment to both in-laws and their shop.

Makoto remembered being taught the names and appearances of different flowers nearly as soon as he could speak. The brightly smiling sunflowers with their proud golden manes; the deceptively romantic roses whose stalks he never dared touch even after they'd been de-thorned; the the sleepily drooping bluebells with their blossoms the colour of the summer sky; all of these flowers situated about the shop and in his mother's garden, he could recognise and point out by his first birthday.

Sometimes, his grandmother would have him watch her carefully snipping off sections of stalk and selecting samples of plants and blossoms, before arranging them upon beds of needles to express stories, shapes, and forms. His grandfather would give him lectures and demonstrations on how to best grow and shape the delicate figures of bonsai trees. As for Makoto's mother, she would have her son accompany her in her garden all year around, whether she be weeding or planting. In hindsight, Makoto realised that they may have hoped that he would take up the work that his father had refused many years ago and inherit their legacy.

When Makoto was eight years old, his grandmother suffered from a severe stroke and passed away within the month. Soon afterwards, his grandfather was forced to regretfully sell the shop and move into a nursery home. He followed his wife roughly a year after her death. At both their funerals, Makoto felt sadness and loss, just like everyone else in the family; but as he watched the tears roll silently down his father's cheeks and listened to his mother's incessant sobs, he realised that ikebana and bonsai had always been particularly boring. He'd never really enjoyed those lessons, and now he'd never have to sit through one ever again. Of course it was sad that his grandparents and their shop were gone, but he couldn't help but feel that at least he'd gotten something good out of it.

Nobody noticed the small smile that stretched the young boy's lips just for the briefest moment in the middle of the funeral.

_(a/n): ok so he turned out to be a lot more evil in this little drabble than I intended. I'd just like to clarify that he's not happy that his grandparents are dead- definitely not. It's just that he's glad he never has to listen to those lectures ever again. He's not that evil that he wanted his grandparents dead. Hopefully this makes sense? _

_This is mostly just me being bored during a lecture and feeding my fixation of Makoto x Flowers. _


	3. sas' birthday

**Fanfiction, Kuroko no Basuke.**

**Oneshot, Hanamiya Makoto x Imayoshi Shouichi.**

**Word count:** 1797

**Warning(s):** Violence, somewhat abusive relationship, the general fucked-upness that you'd expect from this pairing, sex, rambling, wordfart

**11-11-12. Happy birthday, Sas. All hail the Ship of Bastards.**

* * *

(I)

It's been five months since he and Shouichi started living together; five relatively uneventful months in which neither of them have managed to successfully off one another, although Makoto knows that at least on his part, this is not for lack of attempt. Shouichi, on the other hand, is far too crafty and far too subtle to outwardly show any hatred or ill will towards his flatmate; let alone admit to any homicidal schemes, whether they take effect or not. It's quite an achievement (or quite a failure, depending on Makoto's mood of the day and how he chooses to view the situation according to his frequent whims), considering that both of them were rather certain that they wouldn't last a week living in the same apartment without the police getting involved. Makoto internally confesses without repent that most of his envisionments of how the week would end involved Shouichi dying a horribly slow death in an alleyway. Despite all initial doubts however, routine has settled into its dull trod, and both inhabitants have miraculously managed to intergrate the presence of a rival asshole in the immediate vicinity into their daily habits.

(II)

Makoto knows for a fact that he and Shouichi were not the only ones who thought that this scheme of cohabitation would end with manslaughter; Kentarou went silent for an entire thirty seconds on the other end of the line when his former captain offhandedly mentioned this new development in one of their telephone conversations. Makoto's also heard reports that Kazuya's gum dropped right out of his mouth when he was first informed. He's also half sure that Furuhashi's monthly calls hide the motive of checking that their spider is still alive. It's almost endearing, the loyalty that they hold to him even after they've all graduated and parted ways; Makoto would call it a sense of comraderie if he were capable of feeling such emotions.

(III)

The mornings are usually slow and quiet. Makoto is a ruthlessly early riser, and refuses to deviate from his daily ritual of watering the flowerbox that he places outside the window of the apartment's bedroom. Shouichi- on the other hand- typically makes a point not to join the realm of the living until after ingesting the second cup of steaming hot coffee. Makoto could have easily poisoned these morning beverages many times, taking advantage of his foe while the older man is still sluggish and uncoordinated from sleep, but it's a unspoken armistice between the both of them: Makoto will not touch Shouichi's coffee; in turn, Shouichi will refrain from setting Makoto's flowers (which the glassessed man has an unexplicable grudge against, Makoto has learnt) on fire. Seeing as both items have near sacred importance to their respective owners, the truce has been upheld thus far.

(VI)

Much to the displeasure of both parties, Shouichi and Makoto find their ways into each others' beds more often than not, though lack of sobriety can only be held accountable for a certain portion of these occassions. It was eventually decided that having one bed that fit the both of them was probably the most economic choice. Makoto firmly insists that he agreed only due to financial reasons. Shouichi smiles knowingly in the way that makes Makoto want to cut those lips off his face.

(V)

It's always a strange sensation when Makoto wakes up to the sight of Shouichi's sleeping face. This situation has occurred often enough to be a familiar one, and many times took place before they even moved in together, but every morning, Makoto spends several moments in static observation, considering his options and wondering what to do.

Shouichi doesn't sleep with his glasses on, and it surprisingly makes him appear less menacing; in fact, his entire composure seems much more relaxed and vulnerable when he's not conscious. Having spent high school with Kentarou, Makoto is no stranger to the sleeping faces of others, but it's difficult to explain how he feels when he watches Shouichi's chest rise and fall with every calm breath. Makoto's first instinct is a sort of relief; the knowledge that those cunning eyes aren't watching his every move, those dishonest lips aren't curved into their infuriatingly seamless smile, that masterful mind isn't plotting his demise at every turn. But the base of the emotion is much more visceral and hateful than that.

Every morning, Makoto knows that it would be easy- just so very easy- for him to end the bastard right then and there. He could just wrap his hands around that pale throat, feel the smooth skin on his palms and fingertips, trace the hard ridge of his collarbones and the bulge of his Adam's Apple, and just squeeze. Makoto wonders what it would feel like to sense the collapse of Shouichi's windpipe under his grip, hear the choking gasps as Shouichi struggles and gasps for air to no avail, the widening of Shouichi's eyes and the horrific, wonderful look of utter terror when he realises that-

At that point, Makoto stops himself, because he knows that Shouichi would never show that sort of fear. If anything, the glassessed man would just be smiling as widely as always, goading Makoto on and daring him to finish the job.

Makoto suspects that, from the gleam in Shouichi's eyes, the older boy knows what flashes through his junior's mind when Makoto leaves rings of bruises around his neck in the nighttime. He never mentions it, but he knows. That's why he never actually goes through with it.

(VI)

The sex is a large part of the compromise, of course. Makoto hates Shouichi, and in return, Shouichi hates Makoto; it's the perfect partnership. It's something cheap and ugly and spiteful, and dear god, does it hurt. It hurts when Shouichi pushes a finger dry without any preparation whatsoever; it hurts when Makoto rakes his nails down Shouichi's back, scratching and clawing as if he wants to rip the skin off; it hurts when Shouichi bites Makoto's lip during kisses, or when Makoto sinks his teeth into Shouichi's shoulder. Most of all, it hurts like hell in the morning when Makoto tries and fails to walk without a limp, and Shouichi has to find creative ways to hide all the cuts and scars and bruises that have been left on him, finally resorting to makeup of all things.

Neither of them is in this for the pleasure, but both parties know that they need this. The pain and the satisfaction of causing pain is what they get out of it, and it's a well-known fact that they're both sadists to the highest degree. This is the only way that they can acknowledge one anothers' existence.

(VII)

It's striking at times, when Makoto realises that they may actually be mistaken for a couple. Makoto understands that to the rest of the world, it's obvious conclusion; but the fact that it's so far off from the actual truth just staggers him. They live together and have sex together, that much is true. However, Makoto is certain that real couples have never had the urge to sink knives into each others' chests, to soak their hands with their partner's blood and laugh. Makoto enjoys hurting things because it makes him happy- and as evidenced, he at least attempts to cause pain to most people and most things that he comes across. That's just the sort of person he is. But Shouichi is the first person who's ever desired to hurt Makoto with an equal vigor, and this changes things completely. Makoto doesn't just want to hurt Shouichi- he wants to kill him.

He wants to be the one responsible for Shouichi's last breaths, the one that watches the light dim from his eyes, and hear his very last heartbeat. He wants to see Shouichi die, because this world isn't made to contain the both of them together.

(VIII)

Makoto conveniently forgets all the times he just watches Shouichi without thinking, without questioning. Sometimes, it's when the older boy is poring over one of his law books, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, and his hand rising to adjust them ever so often. Sometimes it's when Shouichi stands shirtless at the bathroom sink, applying concealer to all the marks from the night before marring his skin, and his teeth unconsciously gnaw at his bottom lip- a habit of his when he's concentrating hard on something. Sometimes, it's the sight of Shouichi's back as he turns to leave.

The last one of these, Makoto remembers very clearly, and it's the one that he most fervently wishes to forget.

(IX)

Sometimes after sex, when Shouichi thinks that Makoto is asleep, he will trace patterns on the skin of the other's back. The pads of Shouichi's fingers are rough and warm from many years of handling a ball on court, but they're all softness and delicacy when they draw swirling lines and tickling circles around Makoto's shoulderblades and down his spine. To this day, Makoto hasn't told him that he's usually awake during these times, although he's certain that Shouichi already figured that out a long time ago. What really baffles Makoto is why Shouichi does it, and why he hasn't stopped.

(X)

Shouichi's a devil in the courtroom, or so Makoto's heard. However, his own experience with the man should be enough to convince him that Shouichi would be able to earn Satan himself a 'not guilty' verdict if the devil were willing to cough up the cash. Frankly, neither Makoto nor anyone else who knows Shouichi is the least bit surprised. Makoto finds it a bit more difficult to come up with murder plans and fantasies on those days when Shouichi comes back with a fox's smile in his face and the glint in his eye that tells Makoto that he's managed to win yet another case, and in the process, completely fuck up the mind of the opposition.

Likewise, when Makoto returns from business meetings looking more smug than usual, Shouichi immediately knows that the younger boy has somehow bound some unsuspecting competitor into a lucrative and ultimately malicious contract that will most likely result in them losing half of their company to young, polite Hanamiya-san. It's hard for them to hate each other in the face of others' suffering.

(XI)

It's been years since he and Shouichi started living together, and Makoto sometimes wonders how they managed to survive all this time. More often though, he wonders why the hell he puts up with all this shit, and why he doesn't just choke Shouichi in the mornings like wants to.

He never does, though. And Shouichi never kills him either.

Maybe that really sums it up better than either of them can ever express.


	4. drabbles for alyssa

**Brontide** - The low rumbling of distant thunder.

"I'll see you next year at Touou."

The words, meant to be full of encouragement and reassurance, sound more like an omen. Imayoshi's smile isn't knife-sharp and vicious anymore, it's soft, almost pitiful- or is it pitying? Makoto can't tell.

It's springtime, the end of an old year and the beginning of a new one. The cherry blossoms are in bloom, and their fallen flowers drape the entire ground of the school campus in a pink carpet. Makoto can see the imprints of Imayoshi's shoes as the older boy turns around and heads to the graduation ceremony where he will receive his middle school diploma, and leave for bigger and better things. Makoto will most likely follow him next year.

The younger boy clasps his hands into fists and curls them tightly. He draws a breath, and then exhales. He takes note of this moment, and burns it- burns it- into his memory, holding on to a bitterness and anger that will last for many, many years to come.

* * *

**Capernoited** - Slightly intoxicated or tipsy.

**Gymnophoria -** The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you.

As it turns out, Makoto is excessively nice when inebriated. Shouichi's seen him when completely smashed, and the 'bad boy' is an utter shitshow, laughing at the most mundane statements, smiling as if his face is going to fall off, and clinging onto unprepared standbyers. That's both humiliating and hilarious to watch.

However, the younger boy is only tipsy, it looks as if there's been a miraculous shift in his attitude. Makoto's smile is sweet and innocent, reminiscent of baby puppies and kittens. (and Shouichi must be more drunk than he previously thought because has he honestly just compared Hanamiya Makoto to a puppy?) If not for the fact that he knows perfectly clearly that Makoto had been an absolute terror in middle school, Shouichi would almost say that he becomes like a blushing middle-schooler.

"Senpai, thanks for coming out drinking with me tonight. It was fun," Makoto laughs- holy shit, it's an actual laugh, not a sneer or a cackle- and Shoichi nearly reels, because this is the first time that this boy has called him by that title, despite their many years of history.

Shouichi fights to keep his smile in place as he accompanies the younger boy to his apartment because he doesn't trust Makoto not to trip and bash his brains out in the stairwell. Not that Makoto's drank that much, but with the way that he's acting, anything seems possible. "No problem, Hana-chan." Its unnerving to not have to expect a punch, kick, or even insult aimed in his direction when in this boy's presence. Absolutely unnatural.

When he finally shuffles Makoto into his house, the younger boy drops onto the couch, and looks up at Shouichi with wide eyes, and slightly flushed cheeks. "Remember how we shared a locker room in middle school?" He murmurs, and Shouichi nods with trepidation, unsure where this is going.

Makoto settles into a comfortable position on the couch, and closes his eyes peacefully.

"I bet you look better naked now than you did back then. You're very handsome, senpai."

Shouichi leaves feeling terrified, confused, and exceedingly violated.


End file.
